


show me a signpost for where i should go

by mother_hearted



Series: you count up all my scars (crumble them into stars) [27]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimitri Week (Fire Emblem), Dreams, Healing, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28154988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_hearted/pseuds/mother_hearted
Summary: Living would seem cruel, to a boy who gave up everything for the dead.(or: Dimitri finds catharsis in an unexpected dream.for Dimitri Week 2020 12/24 prompt: healing.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Series: you count up all my scars (crumble them into stars) [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692022
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	show me a signpost for where i should go

Dimitri falls asleep while waiting for Claude to return from his office.

He hears the chatter of a crowd and then he opens his eyes to find himself standing in his sleep clothes, white shirt cut low in the front with the laces to his pants undone, in the middle of Garreg Mach. It's not the restored Monastery of the past two years, but the pristine property before Imperial forces brought chaos and spilled blood. Students mill about in uniforms, and it dawns on him, after realizing where he is, that this is a dream and no one seems to pay him any mind. 

_(Shouldn't I wake up once I realize...?)_

Standing still in the courtyard, he doesn't move until a girl's elbow passes right through him as she walks by. He expects to feel something but there's nothing, not a cold chill, or a stray breeze. 

He turns, wracking his brain to pin down the memory that would bring him here, to the green outside the Officer's Academy. Out of habit he braces himself when he turns to investigate. Of all the battlefields he's suffered and dominated, none have crippled him like his own mind.

But the horrors do not creep in from the sides of his vision. No hands shackle his limbs, no guilty burdens placed on his back like stone. The guilt only exists within him; the guilt of his sins. The guilt of leaving his family name to wither up and dry like an old bouquet. The guilt of holding joy after taking life. 

His phantoms do not appear. Not his father. Not Glenn. Not one of the countless bodies from either the Kingdom or Duscur. Even in his dreams, they only come to him in his memories. 

Dimitri is turning around in the common yard when he hears his name in the distance. Claude's voice is apologetic when he says, _Dima? Yeah, that's all right. Go back to sleep. I'll be--_

Dimitri blinks and it's gone, replaced by the chatter of passing school boys and girls. A burst of laughter makes his head whip around and suddenly, he knows what he's remembering. 

Seventeen and not like anyone else he's ever met. Claude passes through the green with Hilda and his fellow Deers. He's talking animatedly, with broad sweeping gestures, and Dimitri knows where to turn, where to catch Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd peeking around a stone column to steal a glance. More than a glance. Pink dusting his cheeks before he catches himself, throwing his bangs out of his face, likely hoping to do the same to the thoughts in his head. 

He is a poor actor now but he was something else in his youth. He performed under the illusion of a prince whose blood was as black as the ink used to write storybooks. All to hide how he clawed through the monastery at night, desperate to appease the spectres who surrounded him. Well practiced, with a calm expression that rarely budged - except he could never truly starve his heart. There were too many moments, fragile and human, that exposed him. Moments he used to call inexcusable. Unsuited for his quest for revenge. 

Always judging himself, like the skeletons in the back of his head. 

Always coming up short. 

Knowing what he does now, dream or no dream, this is an opportunity Dimitri can’t pass up. His feet carry him through vague memories of that day. Following his student self from the dining hall, to the training grounds, to his room. Seeing when his mask slips, when he yearns to join his classmates in board games and sweets. 

It doesn't occur to Dimitri that he’ll be seen. It's a foolish mistake, really, to think this Dimitri wouldn't see a ghost of himself.

_(My mind is surprisingly on the nose with this one...)_

When the younger Dimitri turns, his eyes are dark, expecting to appease a twisted memory he's too afraid to let go of. Instead his eyes widen when he realizes he's wrong. _"You're not father."_

And Dimitri, scarred eye on display, looks at the sweet faced boy he once was. Everyone said he was handsome, looking the part of a Prince fresh off the cover of a faerie tale. Maybe that was true. He'd only paid attention to his basic hygiene, never allowing compliments to stick. It was easier to let them fly over his head and leave with a smile to hide his discomfort.

Dimitri doesn't say anything, has nothing to say, and his attention is drawn away as he straddles the line between sleep and wakefulness, believing he hears Claude finally changing for bed. 

The dream steals back his full attention when he hears himself spit, "Who are you? What do you want?!"

Dimitri's answer is a mild, "You." No nonsense. Waits for a denial. A refusal. Any argument at all but instead watches himself. Shoulders sagging low, face morphing into heart breaking confusion. With help from his professor, his friends, and his lover after the war’s end, Dimitri has learned to face himself and he doesn’t look away. Feels a rush of empathy for the pained child in front of him, hiding his face behind gloved fingers. 

He shakes, choking out, “"That can't be. You're lying. You can't be me, you're..."

"Alive?" Dimitri smiles, as if to soften the cruelty of his understanding. 

"Did we fail?" The boy shouts, uncaring of neighbors in the hall. Uncaring of his disguise as a student. "Will father and Glenn truly never know peace? And what of all the lives of the people lost that day, what did we do wrong, tell me, tell me now, dammit! I'll fix it, I'll fix our mistake, I’ll kill--!"

"We won't die when we get our revenge." 

He watches the shock ripple through his own face. It feels wrong to call it revenge, when the end of Edelgard’s life had brought him no joy, only a sadness that they’d never been able to coexist without leading Fodlan to ruin. He loses himself to the memories of that day, of the countless ways he might have avoided it, if maybe he hadn’t fallen so hard and long in the darkest hours of the war...

The scrape of a chair on the floor startles him. He confuses it for reality before seeing himself turned around, gripping the frame tight. In seconds, it creaks, threatening to crack and splinter apart. He can't face Dimitri. Then again, he never could face himself. Could never face how alone he felt. Too scared to live for himself.

"We live on to find a new purpose," Dimitri says but his last word is barely heard. Overtaken by the sound of wood cracking, a grief driven voice shouting, "No, you're just here to haunt me! You're here to punish me!" 

A wail rips from the boy’s throat. "You're my worst nightmare and you're here to drop the last handful of dirt on my grave!"

Dimitri isn’t threatened by the outburst, not when he understands. He thought he'd be dead before twenty five. Would not know another birthday, nor grow older than Glenn. Living would seem cruel, to a boy who gave up everything for the dead. Or tried to. Could never manage to completely kill the parts of him that desired friendship. Joy. Love.

There's no need to censor himself. 

"We become a monster but we won't die as one."

"Stop it! Just, shut up, shut up!" And then again, weakly. Quietly: "Shut up."

"I've gotten pretty good at listening to myself but I've also learned when to ignore myself too," he sighs. The catharsis of the situation leaving him feeling light. "We live on, Dimitri." And we get better. Bit by bit. 

He watches himself worry his hands together, the expression on his face broken and vulnerable. 

"...I don't understand. How I can do that."

"Because you're a hypocrite." He says, matter of fact.

His younger self's head flies up in shock. "I - I am not!"

"No, we are." Even in the depths of his madness, even when dealing with his illness day to day, once Dimitri wanted, he couldn’t help himself. Sidestepped around all his should nots and could nots. Brought a new government to his people. Became a tutor. Fell in love. This new identity, whether he believes he deserves it or not. It’s his. "You'll figure it out. You'll be despised but also, well. Adored. It will be interesting to say the least. The person you devote yourself to, they'll see this side of you, and they'll still accept you."

And for the first time, Dimitri almost wants to look away. Look away from the combined heart aching disbelief and barely muted hope in his younger self's face. 

"There's someone... who will stand by me?"

'Me.' The Dimitri who hated himself. For his cowardice. His weakness.

Dimitri knows his own smile transforms him. Sees comical disbelief returned to him in the face of it. "Yes. I couldn't joke about this. Hah. You'll have time to adjust. Among his talents, he's also exceptional at tricking himself."

_(You'll never see it coming. Some days I'm still reeling.)_

"...he?"

Goddess help him.

"That revelation is really the least of your problems." He hadn't finished maturing until after the war but still... Embarrassing. 

The absurdity of the subject change lightens the conversation up considerably. 

"I-I didn't mean anything by it! I just..." And he sees himself almost slip, flushing pink before he can help it. Guilt twisting his features the moment he realizes where his thoughts pulled him. "This world you speak of, I can't believe in it."

He refuses to believe in it. There's no helping that. Dimitri has lived through the hell he sees coming and knows it's unavoidable. Sad but fated nonetheless. 

He can be a bastard sometimes, so all he has to offer is:

"Do your best. You'll be pleasantly surprised."

The annoyed reaction is expected but it still makes Dimitri laugh.

The bell rings, loud through Garreg Mach, signaling the end of the day. 

Dimitri sighs, "I need to sleep. My headache -"

"I know." 

He's ready to go. Feels wakefulness pressing upon him in the press of Claude's chest to his back and...

His eyes crack open tiredly, a low yawn threatening to crack open his jaw in two.

Claude laughs, spooned behind him. "You didn't sleep well? Because you were out of it last night."

"Was I?" Dimitri rolls over to face him properly, kiss him soft. Claude never actually answers his question, kissing him back. Sharing soft kisses, his thigh wedges between Dimitri's where they're pressed close.

"Dinner will be later than usual," he mutters against his mouth. "Don't wait up on me if you're hungry. I know the kids are gonna run you ragged on your field trip today."

"I'll wait." He curls into him closer, stealing what little morning time they have together. Catches the way the light comes in through the window, catches a half reflection of himself pressed along Claude.

Dimitri smiles into his skin. Feels Claude's fingers run over his scarred back and simply nestles in closer.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this in October of 2019, so I'm happy to have found the time and inspiration to polish it and share it here. I really love characters confronting themselves, especially in the literal sense. Whether through dreams or other more fantastical means... It's all so good! Here, I wanted to show Dimitri a few years into his journey of healing and the small ways he can start to celebrate. 
> 
> Enjoy c:


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